


For Your Service, with Thanks

by Zelos



Category: Tales of Vesperia
Genre: Closure, Gen, Happy Ending, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:14:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25891156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zelos/pseuds/Zelos
Summary: Raven glanced sideways at Flynn. “Ya really gonna make me do this?”Flynn shrugged, smile wry. “Too many people have seen you since Baction so I can’t report you as killed in action. There are at least twenty rumours as to your whereabouts, and classified duty assignments only go so far. I have to write something. I’d rather not write ‘desertion’ as your closing line.”Raven buries Schwann one last time.
Relationships: Raven & Flynn Scifo, Raven & Schwann Brigade
Comments: 21
Kudos: 50





	For Your Service, with Thanks

The knight escorting Raven kept giving him sidelong looks. Most guests invited into the Zaphian castle spent their time oohing and ahhing at the splendor or drew themselves up with pompous dignity, not slouch through the halls with disinterested ease. And certainly not slouch through the halls with a lazy familiarity that demonstrated he knew this castle better than the security detail.

The knight was too new to recognize Raven. Thank the spirits for small mercies.

They approached a familiar study. The knight drew up tall as he approached the heavy oak door and knocked very respectfully before opening it. “Sir. Raven from Dahngrest has arrived.”

Raven strode into the room without waiting to be invited in and sketched a sloppy and very much not regulation salute. “Commandant.” Beside him, the knight gawked, aghast.

Flynn looked up from his papers, not bothered in the least. “Raven! Thanks for coming.” To the knight he added, “thank you. Please return to your duties.” The knight clanked away, glad to be rid of the dishevelled man in the obnoxiously purple coat.

Flynn rose and actually bowed to Raven, hand against his chest and a respectful dip of his head. Raven almost squirmed. He returned another sketchy nod before he eyed the impressive forests’ worth of paper on Flynn’s (absurdly neat) desk.

Alexei had been absurdly neat too. Must be a commandant thing. At least Flynn had cleaned out the study: furniture changed and rearranged, all surfaces dusted and wiped. Even the suit of armour he wore was different: accents, colour, size. The only remnants of Alexei here were the title Flynn took and Raven’s own memories.

There was one particular stack that was noticeably set aside, waiting for him. Raven glanced sideways at Flynn. “Ya really gonna make me do this?”

Flynn shrugged, smile wry. “Too many people have seen you since Baction so I can’t report you as killed in action. There are at least twenty rumours as to your whereabouts, and classified duty assignments only go so far. I have to write something. I’d rather not write ‘desertion’ as your closing line.”

“Naw, just death by paperwork.”

Flynn grinned. “Now you know how I feel.” He offered a quill.

Raven snorted. But Flynn had asked for a favour, and as favours went closing his file properly wasn’t too big of an ask. Kid hadn’t even punched him at Heracles even though he should have. Raven owed him this much.

Besides, no one said Raven had to fill them out _honestly_.

Flynn was still holding out that quill. With a deeply disgruntled sigh, Raven took the quill, hunkered into the waiting chair, and set to work.

Eight damn copies. Military always had too much paper for their own good. Triplicate on top of triplicate, line after line: name, number, rank, record of training, awards, next of kin…

Stars, he’d written Alexei Dinoia as his next of kin. Look at that. He stared at the name, tasting ashes in his mouth. If he had had a heart, it would’ve skipped.

Then again, Schwann Oltorain was a figment, a ghost forged with only one purpose. Wasn’t like he had anyone else who gave a damn whether he lived or died. Alexei did…just. Just enough for Schwann’s would-be death to register as _inconvenience_.

Raven savagely crossed out the name and initialed the change. Flynn wisely did not comment. Raven noted, halfway between grateful and resigned, that Flynn had marked him ineligible for re-enlistment.

A flip of the page, two more initials…he wrote down Rita’s Halure address as his forwarding address, and took a moment to picture Rita’s face when his effects arrived in the mail. Heh. She’d get more out of it than he would (rage counted. So did setting it on fire).

Wasn’t like he had anything he would miss. A bonfire was probably a more useful end than anything else he could come up with. As for the other nonsense he filled these pages with, well, Schwann was dead, and the new commandant cleaning up the after; what did it matter, in the end?

He paused on the final line where his signature should go. One more sweep of the quill, and Schwann Oltorain would be laid to rest. S-C-H…

But he couldn’t write the name. It was foreign, alien. A betrayal of who he had once been, a mask he’d worn for ten years. He could see that clearly, now. There was no curtain of hair blocking his eyes.

He flipped back to the previous pages. He’d written R for all the initials. Just R.

Flynn made a sound—a small, rueful laugh. He shook his head, just slightly, and for a moment Raven was reminded of how young this man was. “If it helps, it’s weird for me too. I still think of you as my superior officer.”

“This old man ain’t superior at anything except for how ta treat a lady. Ya need help with that, darlin’?” Raven aimed for lecherous and landed on grimace instead, the would-be leer twisting on his face. The metal sun pulsed in his chest, steady and warm, like something that could’ve been human.

Technically his discharge papers should be tendered to his superior officer. Alexei was a splat on Zaude somewhere. As replacements go, this wasn’t too bad. Raven signed the page, letters large and sloppy, and shoved the haphazard stack back at Flynn. It wasn’t an S, wasn’t even close. Might’ve been an R.

Might’ve been a D, if you squinted really hard.

Flynn gathered the pages into a neat pile, his gauntlets steady and breathing even. He didn’t look at Raven when he spoke. “Maybe it doesn’t matter so much who we think we are.”

Raven shot him a sharp look. Flynn met his gaze, then turned back to scan the documents, unperturbed by the nonsense he’d scribbled. “I think it matters more what we choose to do. ”

By that measure, he’d failed three lifetimes and would fail three more. Change was supposed to be metaphorical. He should’ve earned something between those lives, some knowledge, some wisdom, something more than just regrets.

“Ya givin’ me a big head, Commandant,” he drawled, accent thick like mud, because it was better than anything else. He did not need this trip down memory lane. This was a mistake. “Ya should be haulin’ me ta court martial, not signin’ my discharge papers.” At least he’d declined the veteran benefits.

“You’ve done a lot of good too. A lot of people looked up to you. I did. Do you think your men were blind or stupid, to follow you to the death?”

“A-yup,” he agreed easily, because only fools would die on someone else’s command. A knight’s duty demanded for them to live and die by their blade, not their ideals. In a fantasy world, those would be the same. “Ya would be too, if ya did. D’ya look up ta me still?”

Flynn’s smile was sharp and sad. “Would you believe me if I said yes?”

Raven belatedly remembered that he hadn’t been the only one Alexei made to jump on command. A brief surge of anger burnt out quickly. He’d once been a dreamer too. Unlike him, these kids had the wherewithal and courage to make their dreams real. Him? He lost everything, including his life, and in the end he couldn’t even do that right.

“This ain’t about your guilt, is it?” He idly noticed, as if he was watching himself from afar, that his accent had slipped. He didn’t sound like Raven or Schwann now. He sounded like a ghost, a faded memory of someone buried in Mt Temza’s craters. Which one? There were so many to choose from.

In the distance, there was the clank of armour and greaves approaching, numerous and unified and steadily getting louder. He shook that, and the remnants of memory, off. “I’ve done a lot worse than you.”

Flynn’s gaze slid to Raven’s left. “He had a lot more leverage against you, too.”

He wanted to say _let the dreamers dream_ , but held his tongue; better Flynn than him. He’d never been much of a white knight. Don Whitehorse had dragged him out of the gutter, an assassination attempt turned to debt. Debt transferred, changed hands, and someday they’d collect. Maybe, in the crucible of Dahngrest’s fire and Tolbyccia’s rain, he’d schlep off the ashes of his past lives to forge something new. He has to try. His life belonged to Brave Vesperia now.

Flynn huffed a small sound that was somewhere between sigh and laugh, as if he was long familiar with futile arguments. “If I find Alexei’s notes on, uh, you, would you want them?”

Raven blinked. “That’s an option?” Military research, even defunct ones, never left their fortified walls.

“It’s not like we have blastia anymore. I don’t know if they’ll let me destroy them, even though they should.” Something hard flashed in blue eyes, gone as quickly as it came. “But if you want them, I’ll make sure you get them.”

“Naw.” The word was easy, a roll of the tongue. “Wouldn’t wanna put you out.” His clockwork heart has ticked through ten years of abuse, and he wouldn’t put off whenever it finally croaked. He had no want of death, otherwise he’d have ripped out this time bomb years ago and saved everyone some grief. But just because he wouldn’t chase the end didn’t mean he feared his last bow. He has lived three lives too long. He didn’t need to understand the stars to feel the heat of the sun.

It was just learning, again, the shape of his life. Maybe this time there’d be something worth dreaming about at the end now that he could truthfully say he helped save the world.

The clanking grew loud and halted in front of Flynn’s door—not just an old man’s tattered memory, after all. Without warning, the door banged open. Raven was instantly out of his seat, bow in hand, and barely stopped himself from sending an arrow through the knight’s left eye. “Leblanc?”

“Captain Schwann!” The man’s expression was nothing short of glee. “We caught you!”

Behind him, Adecor and Boccos drew up tall. Behind _them_ , knights filled the hall, stretching beyond the corner and his line of sight. The entire damn brigade was here.

Raven whirled around, but the betrayal died before it formed. Flynn had risen to his feet again, steady blue gaze meeting his. The slanting sun lit up Flynn’s profile, his hair a flame of gold. It felt like a pronouncement somehow, from more than just Terca Lumireis’ white knight.

“I’ll have to reassign them,” the commandant said, simple and quiet. “Let them say goodbye.”

When Raven didn’t answer, Flynn raised his voice, words ringing with easy authority, clear as a bell. “Attention!” He saluted, back straight and posture perfect, not a millimetre out of step. As one, the brigade responded in crisp unison, heels clanking as they parted a path from door into hallway. “Captain Schwann Oltorain departing.”

Raven stared between commandant and brigade, his gaze finally resting on his men. They looked back, a parted sea of orange and red, eyes bright and arms raised. Something swelled, lodged hard in his breast. If Raven had had a heart, it would’ve stopped.

Schwann’s brigade would die with Schwann. That was a fitting end. They’d saved his life too.

Steel straightened his spine, Schwann Oltorain slipping over him, a familiar suit of plate. His raised his arm with military precision, and there was nothing sloppy about this salute. The blastia pulsed in his chest, a living, beating heart. His throat tightened, feelings without words. Dead men did not cry.

Flynn’s voice behind him was warm and gentle, like a winter’s noonday sun. “Thank you for your service, Captain.”

**Author's Note:**

> I blame Battlestar Galactica for the inspiration.
> 
> Slightly more seriously: in the end credits Raven is bossing around guildsmen and knights, so his identity and continued existence is hardly a secret from the knights. And judging from the Sword of Prayer Rag Querion sidequest, Flynn is a person who values the weight of symbolism.
> 
> [Tumblr](http://overzelos.tumblr.com) and [Dreamwidth](http://overzelos.dreamwidth.org) if anyone wants to say hello.


End file.
